


Retribution

by frankenbolt



Category: The New Statesman (TV 1987)
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Face-Sitting, Hate Sex, Politics, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-17
Updated: 2020-02-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:07:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22763707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankenbolt/pseuds/frankenbolt
Summary: Rewrite of the scene towards the end of Season 2 Episode 1. Georgina wants Retribution and the chance to gloat. Alan reminds her she hasn't got any strength of moral conviction anymore and has no high ground to lord over him.Just why is he goading her into an arguement?
Relationships: Georgina Pit/Alan B'stard
Kudos: 11





	Retribution

**Author's Note:**

> I've wanted to write this from the first time I saw this episode. I love Georgina, and I love the fact she got one over on B'stard.
> 
> I just think she should have got a leg over too.

Georgina’s stiletto toed Alan’s thighs apart, the impact of her spiked heel promising a much sharper retribution against the soft leather.

For his part, the conservative politician beneath her seemed mildly stunned at her sudden bravado. It was a small slice of what she really wanted. She wanted to make him feel as powerless and sickened as she had all those weeks ago on the once untouched Hackney Marshes, with him pawing at her in the passenger seat of his stupid Bently.

The same untouched Hackney Marshes she’d just had a large hand in destroying thanks to the precious oil beneath. Animals had died in her quest for profit. The land would never recover. Her friends and family abandoned her almost as soon as the ink had dried on the contracts.

Perhaps he saw the hesitation in her posture because Alan’s smarmy and condescending sneer crossed his face once again. He ran a bold hand up the smooth expanse of her calf, tutting quietly at her lingering conscience. “Georgie dear...look at you. So much for those hard fought for morals eh?” Manicured fingers traced the freshly waxed brown flesh of her legs, and nudged upwards at the frills of her new (custom and handmade. She’d be going back to the Islands in traditional garb at least) dress. 

She hated that small puff of air that escaped her mouth as soft fingers knowingly traced her thigh. Soft fingers that had never seen a day of hard work in their lives, worrying small circles against her skin like they knew exactly what was going to happen next.

Georgina slapped Alan. Hard. Her rings clipping his cheekbone with a satisfying rattle of precious metals.

One among them, her grandmother’s simple tin engagement ring, hidden under the new and shining gems and intricate gold.

Alan looked up at her then with a split second of anger colouring those pale blue eyes, perfect blonde hair ruffled and pulled out of place by the escorts she’d chased out earlier. Cheap pink lipstick that had stained his cheek now tainting her own hand. Beneath all that public school tory-toy boy charm and angelic good looks, she saw the monster he really was. The creature that was all greed- ready to push her backwards over the coffee table and damage her as revenge for the inconvenience (and it was an inconvenience. The man was a millionaire already. Oil under Hackney would only pad his already thick pockets) she’d caused him. 

All greed. Until that greed coalesced into a thick melting pool of lust. He smiled alluringly up at her as if this were a clandestine, mutually pleasurable exchange and not her well prepared speech gloating about all the money she’d just swiped from right under his nose.

He disgusted her. 

Her stiletto pressed against his chest, the heel threatening and deadly over where his heart should be. 

“Do you think I’m here to talk about philosophy, B’stard?” Georgina spat as she glared down at him. “I rather think you’d be more wounded by your latest get-richer-quick-scheme to fall flat on its face.”

“I’d have thought I would be too, Georgie, but you’re rather softening the blow for me.” Alan’s eyebrows waggled, his eyes gesturing downwards at the unmistakable sign of his arousal, and then at the heel currently pressing insistently against his chest. “Metaphorically speaking of course.”

“Despicable.” She scoffed, using her position to push herself away from him (Alan’s soft groan of approval at the action only intensifying her hatred). “You’re getting off on losing money? Is this what you millionaires do to get your jollies?”

Alan muted laughter huffed quietly against her knee as he leaned into the pressure, his ridiculous and appropriating kimono draping open displaying his pale chest, dusted with barely there golden hair. “Quite the contrary, as it happens.”

Georgina was stuck by the sudden image of an image she’d seen in an Art book one of her former comrades had lifted from the local polytechnic. Le génie du mal. A depiction of Lucifer himself so beautiful they had to scrap it and recommission a less attractive version. Only for people to still flock to the statue to admire it’s unearthly beauty and grace. Missing the point entirely that this was a fallen angel, the very definition of evil.

She could see why women threw themselves at his feet. She pitied them but...then again. What was she doing here? Why did she come? To gloat? To toss a fistful of cash into this entitled little white boy’s face? Give some pithy parting comment to leave him furious and eager to punish her and the idiotic conservative flunky she’d conned the information out of in his office?

Why was the look on his face, so close to outright lust, the soft squeak of noise his fists made clutching the edge of the sofa, the huff of his breath on her skin...he tried to assault her! She snarled at him as she ripped her leg away, unable to quite ignore the way he followed her forward in his seated position, or the glowing red mark her heel had left on his chest. His eyes were almost glowing as they followed the sweep of her turning form, creeping lazily over her exposed legs.

“In fact I despise the fact I’ve missed a perfect opportunity to spurn the ordinaries of Hackney directly. I do so love being in control of others misery.” Alan stood, wary of the blood draining to far more important places at that moment. “But then again, Georgie dear, you now know that heady rush first hand, now don’t you?”

She wanted to feel more disgusted with herself but she found she was far more cool headed than she wanted to be. She had deprived an already poverty stricken council estate of much needed employment, funds and added to the pollution and damage already suffocating London. Children would be born with health defects from the proximity to the new refinery. The population would be unable to relocate. The constituency was doomed.

And yet. Georgina found herself not caring not one whit.

“You’ve got yourself a fair bit of cash now. You have power.” Alan was standing directly behind her now, and she felt his breath against the back of her neck, those soft hands resting on her hips, splaying themselves over the fabric of her new and very expensive dress. “That is what WE millionaires get off on, Georgina.” The bastard was kissing behind her ear and she hated that she felt herself responding. “So much better than being head of some silly little council, right?”

She elbowed him in the gut. She took the opening of him coughing and spluttering to push him back onto the sofa, shoving him into a laying down position and crawling on top. His soft hands eagerly tried to push her down towards his arousal but she kneeled over his wrists, twisting them under him so he couldn’t touch her. He still looked far too pleased with himself.

“Power looks good on you.” He cooed up at her, hungrily raking his gaze over her. It was a turn up for the books. He’d normally be quite bored by now if they were still having sex at this point. His refractory period’s notoriety had more to do with his own desire to have as much of everything at once. A woman simply submitting did nothing to prolong his pleasure. Beating the escorts was fun but it only satisfied a very specific sort of need within him. And paying for domination seemed so very false and utterly pointless. His delight in hearing the women he paid for scream in agony with every slap of the riding crop was real. The gratification of sinking into them, his hands full of creamy white and crimson smeared flesh was real. The pathetic little roleplay and the cheap costumes…They didn’t feel it. They had no power over him after all. At the end of the day, the money came from him. A circular motion. He may as well self flaggulate and be done with the whole rotten experience.

But this? Georgina hated him. He could feel it just as he could feel the moist heat of her cunt where her dress had ridden up from how she now straddled his bare chest. Her eyes were full of pain, and with that slap, and now the gloriously sharp rake of her red nails into his pale skin, and the strong grip of her hand around his neck...now that.

That was real.

He was far from bored, which meant she had little Alan’s attention too. Alan B’stard suffered from an overactive imagination, endlessly processing out how to best manipulate and scheme. And right now? Alan wanted to see how far he could push Georgina.

“You’re magnificent.” Alan rasped up at her. He meant it at this moment. He could always deny and lie about it later. But she radiated strength and power and rage. And oh wasn’t that interesting how her grip increased when he complimented her? “I’ll bet you’d make an excellent Tory. Afterall. Our tax cuts will actually benefit you now. Oil Heiress.”

“Shut. UP.” Her voice came out far more husky than she was expecting and she realised with a start her hips had started to grind against the flat expanse of his chest. His eyebrows wryly at her movements, that insipid smirk inching itself back onto his face. 

“I-I can’t ‘magine you’re get-ting much out of me that way.” He was glorying in the burn of pain in his throat that came from every word he managed to squeeze out. Every pump of blood thrumming beneath Georgina’s fingers sent pleasure through every nerve in his body “N-need me to tell you what to do? S’ince yo-ou’re so ‘ood at stealing my plans-”

“Oh I think I know what you’re going to do, B’stard.” She let go of his throat, leaving him arching up under her to gulp in deep breaths. With his eyes squeezed shut she took the chance to touch herself, shoving her panties aside to desperately roll her clit between her thumb and forefinger, a low moan escaping her before she had the chance to cram it back inside. When Alan had finally come back around, his breathing still laboured, stars swimming behind his eyes, it was to the view of Georgina fingering herself atop him, his arms still twisted uncomfortably beneath them, unable to do anything but watch.

Creaking one eye open to see his amorous gaze latched onto her sopping cunt, Georina scoffed, and reached one hand down from where it had been roughly palming her own breast to grip into the golden curls atop his head abruptly, forcing him to make eye contact with her.  
“You’re going to make me cum. I expect it’ll be the first time you’ve ever made anyone cum beside yourself, but you aren’t getting up until I get one last thing from you, Alan.”

His chin jutted forward definitely, distantly praising the position because the demand in her voice was causing little Alan to swell to attention, bobbing uselessly against his stomach. His voice still grated and shook with the effort to speak. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

“You are a shallow, selfish and cowardly little man, Alan. You only care about yourself. If you have ever made anyone cum, I’ll expect it’ll have been by accident.” Georgina raised herself up enough to shuffle forward until she hovered over his stupid tory face. “Luckily for you, I have the time to let you fumble around until you find my clit.”

“You’ve got to at least let me have a hand.”

“You’re not touching me.” Georgina snapped, the hand in his curls pulling sharply until a long groan escaped the man writhing under her. “You want to fuck me so bad? Use that snake like tongue of yours.”

With that, Alan barely had to be forced into it- he lapped at her like a man possessed, alternating between sucking at her clit with a ferciouscity he usually channelled into his back bench speeches, to doing just as she’d asked, flicking his tongue up and into her until his jaw ached and burned from use. His hips uselessly lifted in time with his mouth’s fervent actions, and he felt that familiar coil inside start to loosen sooner than he would have liked. 

He wrestled his hands away and under her thighs, to pull her closer to his face, pointed nose buried in her pubic mound, sharply inhaling her scent with each frantic flick of his tongue inside her heat. Georgina was already chasing the end, her hands both buried in his blonde curls, staggering her panting his name with soft cursing until he felt her still and arch her back, her mouth clenched shut as she stuttered towards the edge and over, her body shaking with the release of her orgasm.

Alan, being the bastard he was, wasn’t about to wait for her to finish and give him permission to cum too. With a few sharp tugs of his own he came with a grunt before wilting back into the sticky sweat of the leather sofa beneath him.

When he awoke later, there were bruises on his neck, and chest and his arms felt dead...and a banana in his mouth.

Scrawled along the length of it…

“Lordy White boy...thanks for the oil.”


End file.
